The Joker and the Thief
by Nova Delphine
Summary: It struck him that something had shifted in her, that this was her way of waving a white flag.


What the start of Chlollie in Season 9 might look like. I disclaim, the characters and quoted lyrics (obviously) aren't mine.

PS: Ever since I started shipping Chlollie I just knew I was going to end up writing something that referenced _All Along the Watchtower_. Cliche, yes. Inevitable, no doubt.

* * *

**The Joker and the Thief**

_There must be some kind of way out of here_

_Said the joker to the thief_

Bob Dylan, _All Along the Watchtower_

* * *

"You were right."

Her words, thrown out like a challenge, struck him from behind and brought his progress towards the door to a halt. Turning slowly, he found her standing in front of one of the huge windows that decorated her new home, looking like a piece of stained glass art he'd seen in a Cathedral as a child; tiny, coloured panes that fit together to create the portrait of a sinner begging for absolution.

"About what?"

His question came out biting, all sharp edges and warnings not to push this too far, because even though he was asking, he knew where she was going with this.

He watched as she welcomed his hostility, realizing one beat too late that he'd just played right into her hand. What she wanted to do wasn't for him, for his benefit. She wasn't about to say this because he needed or deserved to hear it. All she cared about was making sure that someone – anyone – heard her say this out loud.

"Justice over mercy," she answered harshly.

He sucked in a hard breath, wanting to hate her for opening up this wound, for picking at something he was trying to let scab over.

"Does it really matter?" He asked bitterly, the weight of his own mistakes pressing down on him, pressuring him to lash out at her. "Change things around and you're still here, just mourning Davis instead."

Her features twisted sickly at the mention of the dead man and when she spoke, her voice was uncompromising, unforgiving.

"He deserved it. I know that now."

"But you wouldn't have if I'd had my way," he refuted plainly. "He would have become the poor, misunderstood martyr you couldn't save. That sound better to you?"

The insinuation spurred her forward, her small frame stalking across the room to arrive within an arm's length.

"Jimmy would still be here, that's all that matters," she insisted fiercely, bristling before him. "As for Davis, I'd gladly take false memories of a good man over the reality of what he really was."

He could feel his blood throbbing in his veins, wanting to shake her until she realized that they'd already had this argument, only now, they'd switched sides.

"Do you really believe that killing Davis would have solved everything?" He shouted, incensed that she was taking the wrong lesson from this tragedy. "Do you think that would have fixed the fact that you let him get between you and Jimmy in the first place? Would that have kept Clark from leaving?"

He could see her faltering, frustrated that he wasn't giving her the fight she'd expected from him, trying to figure out how to bait him into the sort of clash she thought she needed.

"What happened wasn't because of one or two missteps Chloe," he pressed, taking advantage of her struggling silence to try and make her see the whole truth. "Everything was falling apart way before Davis Bloome. Lana getting all supercharged, Tess stirring up shit she knew nothing about, Brainiac – "

"You murdering Lex."

Her chin jutted out defiantly, fully aware that she'd just issued a low blow and showing no remorse for it.

He took a step back, needing space, knowing he'd had enough.

"I'm not your punching bag Sullivan," he told her lowly. "Misery might love company, but I'm not getting dragged back into this. I know what I did and I'm making my peace with it."

He moved back two more paces, closing in on the door.

"Whatever this is you're trying to do here, it's warped and I'm done."

She stayed perfectly still, green eyes tracking him closely. Just before he turned to leave, he tried to remember the snarky little thing who'd shown up at his penthouse three years earlier, the one with the blonde head full of secrets and the big heart ready to keep them.

He was stomping down the hall towards the elevator when she suddenly scampered in front of him, blocking his path.

"I'm sorry," she sputtered, tripping over the simple words in her urgency to get the apology out. "I shouldn't have said… I don't why I said that."

"You said it because you want a fight," he growled. "You're angry and you wanna take it out on someone and for some reason, that someone's me."

She stared at him meaningfully, the intensity of her gaze suffocating.

"There isn't anybody else," she whispered.

It struck him that something in her had just shifted, that this was her way of waving a white flag and suddenly, the anger that had been pulsing through him so thickly was surrendering as well.

"Clark and Lois are gone," she breathed without her usual resolve to get them back.

"And Jimmy…"

She choked on the name and he felt his own chest tighten, thinking of the man they'd both let slip through the cracks.

"I can't even let myself remember the good times," she confessed shamefully. "They make me think about what I threw away and I can't handle it."

He nodded mutely, knowing that words couldn't make things right and that trying to say some would just lead to more lies, which wouldn't do either of them any good.

"I'm alone," she declared as though it marvelled her, like she'd woken up and found herself someplace she couldn't remember travelling to.

Having spent a lifetime living the kind of loneliness she was talking about, he understood her too well.

"I can't tell you this goes away," he murmured gently, settling a heavy hand on her shoulder, feeling his heart stutter uncomfortably as the tremors racking her body rattled up his arm.

"I know," she shuddered, her hands reaching up to grip his wrist, clinging to him and making him wonder how long it had been since she'd let someone touch her, since she'd touched someone.

"I just… I never meant…"

She was stumbling over her thoughts, trying to say everything and coming up with nothing.

"I only ever wanted to do the right thing," she finally blurted out, tears starting to form in the corners of her eyes. "I thought I could make things better and the more I tried, the worse it all got."

Her hands were squeezing his wrist, fingers pressing into skin and tendons and bones.

"Even now," she hiccupped, the first few tears crawling over her cheeks, "I'm doing everything wrong. Clark won't come back – he won't even let me know he's okay – and Lois…"

The sob was violent, pained.

"What if she's dead, too? I've looked everywhere, but I can't find her!"

His jaw clenched and unclenched, unable to admit that the same fear had been crossing his mind more and more lately.

"I don't know what I'm doing anymore," she cried. "I don't think I ever knew."

He pulled her to him impulsively, his arms locking her against him as he thought of the last time he'd seen his mother, of the last words his father had said to him.

"This kind of stuff," he began hoarsely, warring with his old hurt, "you have to learn to live with it, somehow. If you don't, it drowns you."

"But how?" She begged, her hot face buried in his chest.

"I'm still sorting that out," he said honestly, closing his eyes and resting his head tiredly upon the top of hers. "But you, you're smart enough and strong enough. Maybe when you get there, you can give me some directions."

She hugged him tighter.

* * *

_No reason to get excited  
The thief he kindly spoke  
There are many here among us  
Who feel that life is but a joke but uh  
But you and I we've been through that  
And this is not our fate  
So let us not talk falsely now  
The hours getting late_

Bob Dylan, _All Along the Watchtower_


End file.
